Lots of eaters weigh the attractiveness of Italian-American pasta houses by the vastness of their servings. Acres of mozzarella, mountains of meatballs, and more macaroni than a marathoner can manage. Diners like personable servers and a mint with the check, but in Buffalo, nothing brings them back like a doggy bag that takes two hands.
So it was intriguing to sit in the former Joe’s Deli and watch customers sip wine while waiting for the chance to pay $18 for pastas whose petite portions would constitute a grievous insult in some precincts.
